Hello, everyone! So, I've decided to take a short break from Firefly considering I cranked out so much so quick. I appreciate those who have followed and favorited my stories, and if you haven't already, please consider reading Firefly, as it also falls into the same fandom. The first chapter is pretty tame, but things are going to heat up as it progresses. Reviews and feedback are much appreciated! I hope you enjoy, and without further ado,

The Land of Gods and Monsters

Chapter One

I love my job, or so I tell myself every day. It's quick money, the tips are decent, and the other girls are pretty good about staying to themselves. Manager's a dick, but that's to be expected of a middle-aged woman who works 50 hours a week in a slum like this. No, I'm not a stripper. Although, the prospect of it has started to peak my attention. I'm a waitress. A 22-year-old, depressingly poor, average looking, kinda pudgy waitress at a diner called Dotty's, and my only goal tonight is to make it to my next smoke break without killing someone.

"Kara! Ya got one!" Vince yells from the kitchen.

I slam down the ketchup bottle I'm currently attempting to fill, and trudge toward the front. It's 11:30pm on a Tuesday, and everyone's been tipping garbage tonight. Rent's due in a week and I don't even have half of it. Forget buying groceries, I'm going to be living off messed up orders and Ramen for the foreseeable future.

Grabbing my book and pen, I adjust my blonde pony-tail, and walk the row of red and white striped booths until I reach the one that's now occupied. In it sits a man, grungy, beat-up, and dripping puddles on the floor from the current downpour. Great, another homeless drunk I'm gonna have to run out.

Fan-fucking-tastic!

"Hi, what can I get you?" My voice is rushed, and I don't look up from my book.

"Coffee, Darl." He replies, his accent catching my attention.

We don't get many Australians in Gotham.

"Sure."

I study him covertly as I pour his cup; people watching having become a habit of mine since I started here. He's older than me, maybe late twenties, or early thirties, with a tangled mess of a mohawk atop his head, and a bush of a beard lining his cheeks. Possibly attractive beneath the layers of grime, facial hair, and damp clothing. He also seems vaguely familiar, although I can't exactly put my finger on why.

"Anything else?" I question as I place the cup in front of him.

"What's ya name?" He looks up at me.

I glance down to the spot where my nametag should be but isn't. What? It was just there?

"Kara." I reply.

"Did ya make that pie?" He gestures to the case at the counter where an untouched blackberry pie sits.

"I did."

"I'd like a piece." He smiles, and I feel uneasy.

I shoot Vince a look through the ticket window as I slice the pie. He's worked at Dotty's for the last fifteen years, and believe me when I say he knows everyone that comes in. Literally everyone, from the cops and the mob lackies, to the little old couples that come in for breakfast on Sundays. He pokes his head out a bit to glance at the mysterious man, shrugging his shoulders as he looks back to me.

"Ain't seen him before." He gives me a cautious look.

Shit. I usually depend on Vince to help me steer clear of the crazies and the troublemakers. Looks like I'm on my own with this one, though.

"Bad night, love?" The stranger asks as I deliver his pie.

"I've had better." I fold my arms. "Also had worse."

"Why don't ya sit and tell me about it." It isn't a question.

"I would, but I'm busy."

He raises in his seat to scan the empty restaurant, eyes landing back on me when he's finished.

"Ya don't look busy." He grins noticing my discomfort. "I won't bite ya."

"I really shouldn't, my boss will get mad." I lie.

"C'mon, I just want some company while I finish me pie. No funny business."

"Fine." I sit, folding my hands in my lap. "We're closing soon anyway."

"Good girl. Now tell me, what's eatin at ya tonight?"

I glance over my shoulder to make sure Vince is still in the kitchen where I left him before I respond.

"You really wanna know?"

He nods, taking a bite of pie.

"I work in a dump. I'm broke. My boyfriend met someone else. My cat ran away, and rent's due in three days and I barely have half of it." I take a breath. "How are you?"

"Ya make good pie." He points his fork at me. "So, right now I'm pretty good."

"Thanks."

"And ya boyfriend's a wanker. Pretty, and ya can cook? They'd have ta drag me away."

"I thought you said nothing funny?"

"I'm just makin observations, darl." He raises his hands.

"What's your name?"

"Why d'ya want ta know?" He wiggles his eyebrows, and I crack a smile. He's charming in a fucked-up way. Kinda like an old mangy dog that no one wants to touch, but you still pat his head and tell him he's a 'good boy'.

"I told you mine; it's a fair trade."

"Digger."

We chat until close and part ways shortly thereafter. He disappears into the downpour outside without so much as a goodbye, and I won't lie, I feel a little put out over it. I go to clean off his table, and nearly have a heart attack when I see what he's left behind. There are three crinkled hundred-dollar bills pinned beneath the salt shaker. Next to them sits my nametag.

OOOO

I spend the next two days internally battling over what to do with the money. On one hand, having a place to live is nice, but on the other, you don't just give someone three-hundred dollars unless you expect something from them. The last thing I want, or need is to be indebted to some creep that goes by the name 'Digger'. I should've never even talked to him. I don't know how I always end up in these fucked up situations.

Thursday night I'm scrubbing the counters when the bell above the door rings. I look up to see him, dripping wet and smiling at me, as he tracks mud across my freshly mopped floor.

"Why are you wet?" I question, glancing through the windows. "It's not even raining."

"Decided ta go fer a swim." He announces, shedding his jacket and tossing it on the counter.

"In your clothes?" I wrinkle my nose at the stench of the dirty trench coat. Doesn't he wash his clothes? Maybe he is homeless, but then again, why would he have three-hundred dollars, and why would he give it to me if he was?

"It was a spur of the moment thing, love."

He unzips his jacket to reveal a battered gray wife beater speckled in brown stains that might've once been blood. He shakes like a dog, spraying water and flecks of mud onto everything within his reach.

"We need to talk." I mutter, digging through my pocket. "I can't take this."

I toss the money on the counter and watch as he looks from it to me.

"And why not?" He sounds offended.

"Because you don't just give someone that kind of money. It's insane!"

"I didn't just give it too ya, it was a tip fer makin such good pie. Speaking of which, what's the flava taday?"

"Lemon Meringue." I frown. My pies aren't that great.

"Gimmie a slice, will ya?"

"Take the money back."

"No."

"Then no pie." I shrug.

"Why ya bein so difficult?"

"Why are you?"

"Kara!" Vince's voice startles me.

I glare at Digger before heading to the back. I find Vince waiting for me; gray bushy eyebrows furrowed.

"What?"

"You need to be careful, kid. I talked to a few of my buddies on the force and apparently they've got their eye on your new friend."

Ah, so he's a criminal. The money's probably stolen. Now it makes sense.

"For what?" I venture.

"Wouldn't tell me all of it. Just said they believe he might be involved in some illegal activity and to contact them if he starts trouble."

"Apparently he really likes pie." I glance back through the gap in the double doors. "He's also kind of a prick."

"Just don't be out there mouthing off to him. Don't need you getting him all riled up and destroying the place. Just give him what he wants and send him on his way."

I don't try to hide my aggravation as I walk back to the counter to find Digger has helped himself to a piece of pie.

"What was that about?" He raises an eyebrow.

"I have to be nice to you." I frown, grabbing a rag to clean up the mess he's created. "So, how's your pie?"

"Best I eva had." He winks. "How's ya night goin?"

"It's going."

He watches me scrub the flecks of mud from the counter before I grab the mop to start on the floor. I can feel his eyes burning into me, willing me to look at him so he can continue annoying me. I refuse to give in though and keep my head down and pointed away from him while I work.

"I'm gettin the sense ya don't like me much." He twists in his seat as I pass him.

"I don't know you." I say plainly. "And I'm a little wary of anyone just handing out cash."

"Look." He says. "I already told ya, it's a tip. Ya a nice girl and I like ya. There ain't no strings attached to it, so just take it and pay ya rent."

He slides the cash across the counter to me, giving me a hard look as he does. He doesn't look like the type to tell the truth, but something in him seems genuine, and I take it.

"Thanks."

He grunts, gesturing toward the case at the end of the counter that holds the pies.

"I'll take anotha piece, sweetheart."

OOOO

I pay my rent on Friday and spend the following day off from work catching up on some much-needed rest. I've been pulling doubles every chance I get to save up for school, and my body's been running on coffee and stubbornness for far too long.

I lay in bed, unsure of why I've woken up. The clock on the nightstand says midnight, and I realize I've slept most of the day away. I stretch, my back and shoulders cracking with a satisfying pop, as I swing my legs over the bed. When my toes touch the floor, I realize exactly what woke me up.

The entire room is freezing, the carpet doing little to warm the concrete beneath. God, please don't tell me the heat's gone out again. Of all the things I can't afford right now, fixing the furnace is at the top of the list.

"Fuck." I growl, stomping through the house.

I fling open the door to the small closet that holds the furnace, dropping to my knees to check the pilot light. It's out, and from the way the house feels it's been out for a while. I grab the box of matches that I keep on the shelf above and attempt to light the thing, failing miserably, and burning my fingers in the process.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" I hiss. This could not possibly have come at worse time. Now I'm broke and cold. Just fucking great.

I meander to the couch in the living room, defeated and on the verge of tears. Why does everything always have to be so hard? I work myself to death. I try to keep up on bills. I'm a nice fucking person. So, why is it that every time I get even an inch ahead, I'm thrown back a mile? What did I ever do to deserve so much bad luck?

I sulk for a while until my head begins to level, at which time I do what I always do; tell myself that it's going to be okay and that I can do this. It may be bullshit, but it helps me keep going, and that's what I need right now.

"I need a drink."

OOOO

Twenty minutes later, I'm bundled and walking through the misty rain to the 24-hour convenience store five blocks over. It's not wise to be out this time of night, especially on this end of town, but my need for a hard drink outweighs my worry. Besides, let someone mug me. Not like they'll be getting very much aside from a few crinkled fives.

The store's dead as I enter, my eyes falling on the skinny black man behind the register. My midnight liqueur trips are nothing new, and he's come to know me well in the time since I've turned twenty-one.

"Hey miss lady." Bennie greets me. "How's it hanging?"

"Not well, I need a drink."

"When don't you?" He says, and we laugh at my budding alcoholism.

"I'm a lush, what can I say?" I snatch a bottle of Skol and head to the register.

"What's digging at you tonight?" He asks as he scans the bottle.

"Furnace broke. The car's been broke. I'm broke." I laugh. "But I paid my rent on time this month, so there's something."

"Heard anything outta Denny?" My smile fades immediately.

"Fortunately, no. But knowing him, that's subject to change whenever he needs something."

I toss a five on the counter and grab the brown paper sack. My urge to get wasted automatically increases at the mention of my ex. Denny the dickhead.

"Just gotta keep on keeping on." Bennie says. "That's what my Granny says."

"I'll keep that in mind." I smile, taking my change.

I bid Bennie a fond farewell as I step out into the drizzle. The roads are dead; the light from the streetlights shining off the wet pavement. The thought of going home to a cold and lonely house is beyond unappealing, and I find myself waking slower to postpone the inevitable. But, that's my life, one big depressing fucking disaster after another. I get drunk alone, I sleep alone, I watch Tv alone. Cookie, my cat, used to help, but just like Denny, she took off the first chance she got. It's like pulling teeth to get anyone to stick around. Even my plants fucking die.

"Hey!" A hand appears out of nowhere, dragging me out of sight into the nearby alleyway. I'm spun around and forced face first into the wall of the adjacent building; the brick cutting against my cheek.

"Let me fucking go!" I scream, but it quickly turns to a yelp as my arm is twisted hard behind my back.

"Where's ya boyfriend?" The voice whispers maliciously.

"I don't know." I mumble, my lips scraping the brick. "He can fuck off for all I care."

"Word is he skipped town about a month ago, and he took something real important with him. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?" He pushes harder and my shoulder burns.

"He never tells me shit. For all I know, he's dead in a ditch somewhere."

The figure presses against me, hot breath wafting over the side of my face. I swear to God, if I survive this, I'm gonna fucking kill Denny. Fucking rat bastard!

"You better come up with something for me real quick or you're gonna be joining him" He growls.

"Ay!"

In an instant the force against me disappears, and I fall to my knees in a daze. I watch as the figure fades into the darkness without another word; his footsteps echoing as he runs.

"Ya alright?" I immediately recognize the voice as I look up to see a massive shadow towering over me.

"Where'd you come from?" My voice is small.

"I was passin by an heard ya scream." Digger takes me by the hand and gently pulls me to my feet. "Ya ain't hurt, are ya?"

"Where's my bag?" I spin around, my eyes falling on the crumpled brown sack on the curb.

He follows me back out to the sidewalk where I retrieve my purchase. Ripped and sopping wet with the smell of alcohol, I don't have to look inside to know I'm not getting drunk tonight.

"Fuck!" I snap. "It just keeps getting better and better!"

"What the hell are ya babbling about?" He asks, pulling me into the light. "Ya didn't hit ya head, did ya?"

"I'm fine." I shake him off. "I've just had a really shitty night."

"Ya shouldn't be runnin about this late. There's dangerous people out here, ya know?"

"Thanks for your concern, but like I said, I'm fine." I swear someone has fucking cursed me.

"Do ya live round here?"

"I'm not telling you that."

"C'mon darl, what d'ya think I'm gonna do, rob ya?" He smirks. "I just wanna make sure ya get home in one piece."

The unlikeliness of him just happening by isn't lost on me. He starts coming into the diner, hands me cash like it's nothing, and shows up to rescue me from whoever the fuck that was. It's all too coincidental; and it feels planned.

"I told you, for the third time, I'm fine." I turn on my heel, walking as nonchalantly as possible, although my brain is telling me to run until my feet fall off. He sighs heavily, stalking after me like I'm the one annoying him.

"Why are you following me?" I snap.

"Told ya I was walkin ya home."

"Why do you even care?" I stop, having finally had enough of his shit. "Better yet, why do you just seem to pop up whenever I need help? You pay my rent to keep me from being thrown out, and just now you strolled in like some kind of white knight. If you're trying to get a piece of ass you're barking up the wrong tree."

"Sweetheart, ya ass is not what I'm afta, although I wouldn't turn ya down if ya asked nicely. Ya got somethin else I want."

"And that is?"

"I need a place ta crash fer a bit. Lay low till the air clears."

"So? Go get a motel. Seems you have no shortage of funds."

"Nah, too obvious. I need somethin inconspicuous."

"Cause the cops are watching you, right?" He raises an eyebrow, curious as to how I would come to know such things.

"Lucky guess." I inform him. "And not gonna happen. I don't do roommates."

"C'mon sweetheart, it won't be ta long, I'll pay ya."

"The only thing I know about you is that your name is Digger, and you're Australian. I'm not bringing some strange guy home, so I can end up getting murdered. No thank you."

"Do I look like a murderer?" He grins, his gold tooth gleaming under the streetlight.

"Still no." I turn around, sauntering back down the street. "Go to a motel. Don't follow me. Goodnight!"

"I'll give ya ten grand."

OOOO

I unlock the front door, Digger shuffling excitedly behind me. I never have company, and I'm silently cursing at how dirty I've left the place, although I'm sure he's not the type to care.

"House rules." I announce as he pushes past me, curiously surveying the rooms like a new pet. "Don't go in my room. Clean up your messes. No parties, no girls, no fighting etc. Think you can manage?"

"It's freezin in here." He informs me, and I laugh.

"Yeah, the furnace quit earlier, but I'm gonna call someone tomorrow. Your room's upstairs. Bathroom's down the hall. Extra blankets in the closet. I sleep during the day so please try and be quiet. Any questions?"

"Ya got any pie?"

Feedback is welcome, so if you have any thoughts about the story, feel free to leave a review! Thanks!